


Malaga

by FlyingMachine



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Hijacking, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/pseuds/FlyingMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon Shappey has been after GERTI for years, not to spite his ex-wife, but because he left evidence of his illegal activities on board. He's desperate to get it back, so he hires some people to hijack the plane.</p><p>Martin, Douglas, and Arthur definitely should have paid more attention during that "What to do if You're Hijacked Over Spain" course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

"Morning, Douglas," said Martin as Douglas entered the portacabin.

"You're awfully cheerful this morning. Received our marching orders yet?" Douglas poured himself a cup of coffee and slouched into the chair opposite Martin's desk. Martin shuffled aside some papers and found their flight plan.

"Ah... looks like we're picking up some fellows from Malaga and dropping them back here at Fitton."

"No Carolyn?" Douglas asked, and made a face at his sour coffee. "I see Arthur has already attempted making coffee."

"No, something about how two businessmen don't require two cabin crew and Carolyn is meeting Herc for...whatever she meets him for, so she has the day off," Martin said.

"Must be nice," Douglas commented.

"What must?" Martin asked.

"Getting to take a holiday whenever it strikes your fancy. The last time I asked for a day off to visit my daughter Carolyn threatened to cut out my liver."

"Ah, she threatened my spleen once, when I thought I was coming down with the flu and we had that flight booked for Mr. Alyakhin. Spent the entire trip either being sick or thinking I was going to be sick."

"Well, it's not as though there's much of my liver left to threaten," Douglas continued. "I'd be more concerned about my spleen."

Martin chuckled and stood, picking up his hat as he rose.

"Should be an easy run though. And you couldn't ask for a better day. Clear weather all the way. Ready to go? I think Arthur's about done with the hoovering."

Douglas finished his coffee with a dissatisfied frown and followed Martin into the flight deck.

"Post-takeoff checks complete," Douglas told Martin, putting away the checklist. "Thirteen hundred and all's well."

"We've got a couple hours' flight time. Fancy a game?" Martin asked.

"Of course. I think it's your turn to choose," Douglas said.  


"Really? Okay, how about... well, we haven't reviewed the flight manual recently," Martin suggested.

Douglas groaned. "Oh God, anything but that."

"Hear me out," Martin continued. "We can make it fun."

"Doubtful," Douglas said.

"How about... flight manual bingo?" Martin suggested, despite having no idea how that might be a game.

"How on earth do we play that?" Douglas asked.  


" Well... maybe... for everything each of us does on this flight that's in the table of contents, we get a point. First person to get five points calls bingo?"

"That's not even Bingo! That's just... doing things we do anyway!" Douglas complained. Martin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, he thought he heard a faint groan and a dull thud from back in the cabin.

"Did you hear that?" Martin asked.

"Didn't hear anything," Douglas replied. "Well, except for you suggesting the worst game ever."

"Forget I said anything. I'm sure Arthur will take care of it. But you remember what happened last time we played _I Spy_ ," Martin said, resigned.

"Yes, after two rounds we couldn't come up with anything but clouds," Douglas said.

"It's not a very good game in an aeroplane," Martin said.

"I know, how about-"

Douglas was interrupted by a groan from the cabin.

"That's the noise I heard before," said Martin. "I knew I wasn't hearing things. I'm going to have a look." Martin got out of his seat and opened the flight deck door, to find the businessmen in the process of duct-taping Arthur to one of the seats. They had sealed Arthur's mouth with duct tape, so whenever Arthur tried to speak he only produced a sort of muffled groaning.

"What's going on here?" Martin asked, doing his best to sound authoritative. One of the businessmen turned around, and Martin could see that he held a gun. Martin froze in place. The other businessman continued taping Arthur to his seat.

"Be with you in a just moment, mate," the blond man said as he finished taping Arthur's ankles. Martin blinked, taken aback by the blond man's thick Australian accent. 

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," Martin said. "I'll let you finish taping my friend to a chair."

Blond Man patted Arthur on the shoulder, then turned to Martin. Martin could see the butt of a pistol in a holster under his armpit. The other businessman, who Martin had taken to calling Blackbeard after his only distinguishing feature, grabbed Martin by the arm and spun him around roughly to march him back into the flight deck. The pistol hovered in Martin's peripheral vision near his ear. Blackbeard shoved Martin down into his chair and leveled the gun at his head.

"Martin?" asked Douglas, taking in the scene. "What's going on?"

"What's going on here is that we are hijacking this plane," said Blond Man.

"Oh, do they announce hijackings these days?" asked Douglas. Martin glared at him, but Douglas ignored him.

"Just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page," said Blond Man, pulling his own pistol from under his jacket and releasing the safety with an audible click. He pressed the barrel into Douglas' shoulder, pointing straight down.

"A-alright," Martin stammered, feeling lightheaded. He held very still, acutely aware of the gun barrel against his temple.

" I'm terribly sorry to ruin your day, gentlemen, but you'll be doing as I ask you until we get back on the ground. I think you'll prefer not to argue?" Blond Man asked, emphasizing his question with a jab of his gun into Douglas' shoulder.

"May we ask why you have decided to interrupt our otherwise very pleasant flight?" asked Douglas.

"You may ask, but I won't tell you," said Blond Man. "It's really none of your business. Don't worry, as long as you and the First Officer here stay nice and quiet and fly the plane, you'll be home in time for supper, probably even in one piece."

"Captain," whispered Martin, before he could stop himself.

"Sorry?" asked Blond Man.

"I-I'm the Captain, Douglas is the First Officer. J-just so we're clear," Martin explained.

"Ah, my mistake. Not terribly familiar with flight crews," said Blond Man.

"Clearly," Martin muttered.

"I apologize, _Captain_. I don't believe I caught your name? We're going to be spending the day together, we should get to know each other," Blond Man said.

"Martin," mumbled Martin.

"Captain Martin. I am Mr. Smith, and my partner here is also Mr. Smith. That should make it easy to remember us. He's very shy, so don't worry about leaving him out of the conversation," said Blond Man.

"Well, now that we've all been introduced, let's get on with it then," said Douglas. "Done many hijackings, Mr. Smith?"

"No, this is our first one, actually. Do you have any tips? I think we're doing rather well," Blond Man said.

"Haven't done many hijackings myself," Douglas drawled, "but I'm always happy to provide constructive criticism. Nice suit, by the way."

"Ah, thank you. Now, I do hate to be rude, but I think the two of you will find it to your benefit to keep quiet until we land. Am I clear?" Blond Man asked.

"Impeccably," replied Douglas.

Silence permeated the flight deck, and Martin made a show of checking his flight instruments as he frantically tried to come up with a plan. He couldn't talk to Douglas, and he certainly couldn't radio for help. The hijackers didn't seem particularly volatile, but Martin was unnerved by their smooth, casual demeanor.

If the hijackers were telling the truth, they only needed Martin and Douglas to fly and land the plane and no one would be hurt. They weren't carrying any cargo, with the exception of Carolyn's lawn chair and an old box of strudel that had probably been in the hold since GERTI's maiden voyage. The hijackers weren't threatening to destroy the plane, so they clearly needed to actually land in order to carry out whatever plan they had. But why on earth would anyone go to all the trouble to hijack a plane, only to land it at _Fitton?_ Martin was terrified, but the hijackers clearly couldn't fly the plane themselves, or else they would have killed Martin and Douglas outright instead of held them hostage. Martin wasn't sure he found that reassuring.  


Martin considered their current situation, laying out a list in his mind. The biggest problem was that he couldn't talk to Douglas, apart from what was necessary to operate the plane. And if he couldn't talk to Douglas, they couldn't make a plan about what to do about the hijackers, or what to do when GERTI landed in Fitton. Martin was well aware that once GERTI landed, the hijackers would have no reason not to simply shoot Douglas and Martin and take whatever they wanted from GERTI.

It was too bad that Martin and Douglas hadn't spent some of their hours together in the cockpit making up a secret code or kind of semaphore for just this occasion. If they got out of this situation alive, they would definitely need to come up with something. As Martin pondered this, he found himself tapping his fingers against the engine throttle, a habit of his while he was thinking. He looked down at his hand where it rested, and an idea pushed its way into his mind.

He glanced over to Douglas, careful not to turn his head too much and to keep his body still. Douglas was looking straight ahead.

"Douglas," Martin said, keeping his voice steady. "Can you please give number two engine a little more power?" As he had hoped, he got no reaction from the hijackers for giving what appeared to be a simple instruction.

Douglas deliberately turned his head and looked at the throttle lever, despite the fact that the number two engine needed no more thrust that it had a few moments ago. Slowly, making his movements as small and careful as possible, Martin tapped with his forefinger in deliberate Morse code:

_Let's talk like this._

Douglas' eyes widened briefly in surprise and he looked at Martin. Martin nodded fractionally and pretended to make an adjustment to the throttle as he watched Douglas tap.

 _Well done, Captain. Do you have a plan?_ Douglas leaned back in his seat and pulled a pen from his pocket. He looked up at his captor.

"I need to make a note or two in our flight log. Don't worry, I'll leave out the hijacking bit," Douglas explained. Blond Man rolled his eyes.

"No passing notes, either," he said.

"Oh don't worry," Douglas said, "I wouldn't want them read aloud in front of the whole flight deck. Martin might find out about my secret crush on him." Blond Man dug his gun hard into Douglas' shoulder.

"I'm certain your Captain could land this plane by himself, if you take my meaning."  


To Martin's utter surprise, Douglas managed to hold in whatever sarcastic remark he had on hand about Martin's ability to land a plane. Martin watched as Douglas made a very professional-looking note in the log book, paused mid-word, and tapped the pen in his knee as though thinking.

_I'll step out to use the toilet, and I'm fairly sure Mr. Smith will want to join me. I can get his gun, and lock him in the loo._

Martin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, barely catching himself before he blurted out how terrible an idea that was. Douglas went back to writing in the log on his lap.

 _Do you want to get shot? We should wait until we land and maybe they'll just leave_. Douglas rolled his eyes and went back to tapping lazily on his knee.

 _You have control, Martin._ Douglas initialed next to his notes in the log and snapped it shut. He carefully turned around to look at Blond Man. Martin glared at Douglas, but his First Officer ignored him.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a call of nature I need to attend to," Douglas said. Blond Man frowned and Martin's heart pounded. This wasn't going to work.

"It can't wait until we land?" asked Blond Man.

"Unfortunately not. Captain Crieff will attest that flying while in need of the facilities is extremely unsafe. Incredibly distracting." Blond Man looked at Douglas incredulously, and Martin desperately hoped the hijacker wouldn't decide to shoot Douglas just to make him shut up. To Martin's surprise, Blond Man exchanged a glance with Blackbeard and looked back at Douglas.

"I would hate for you to be uncomfortable," said Blond Man. "I think we'll go together, though. You know, compare eyeshadow, talk about who looks especially cute today."

Despite the stress of the situation, Martin had to muffle a laugh so that it became an awkwardly- swallowed snort. 

"After you, Mr. Smith," Douglas said, and slowly stood to exit the flight deck. "Won't be but a moment, Martin," he added before he stepped out the door. Blond Man followed him out, gun between Douglas' shoulder blades. Martin risked a glance up at his silent captor, who gave no reaction except to press the gun a little harder against Martin's temple, as though Martin could forget it was there.

Just then, he heard a scuffle behind him and the meaty sound of punches landing. Martin heard a pained shout that didn't sound like Douglas but he couldn't be sure. The lav door slammed shut. The pressure of the gun against Martin's head disappeared, and a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Blackbeard's face dipped into his line of vision, and he uttered a single word.

"Stay."

The flight deck door slammed closed, and Martin was alone.


	2. Two

Martin heard a shout of pain and a string of cursing that was definitely Douglas, followed by a heavy thud against the door.

"Douglas!" Martin shouted. "Are you alright?" For a long moment he received no answer, except for the sounds of scuffling and heavy breathing.

"Could use a little help to be honest," Douglas finally replied, and Martin thought he sounded winded. The snap of gunshots interrupted Martin before he could reply.

"Martin!" Douglas shouted. "Now would be the time to do something!"

Martin looked around frantically, as though something in the flight deck could help him. He couldn't leave the controls to go back into the cabin. He stared at the control column and chewed his lip, trying to think of how he could help Douglas. If only he could just flip the whole damn plane over and let the hijackers crack their heads open.

Martin dismissed the idea as ridiculous, then realized that maybe it wasn't. He couldn't actually flip the plane, but he could certainly make things very uncomfortable for everyone on board...

"Douglas!" he shouted through the door. "Douglas, you might want to hold on to something!"

Martin pulled back on the control column and sent GERTI into a steep climb, keeping a careful eye on the instruments. He had only tried this a few times in a simulator, and he hoped the weary old aeroplane would hold together. He was pressed hard back into his seat and he heard loose items crashing around in the cabin. The finicky catch on the flight deck door gave, and the door slammed open. Martin slowly brought the plane back level when the stall warning started to blare.

He twisted in his seat to see into the cabin, and saw Douglas tackle Blackbeard to the floor and land a solid punch on the man's nose. Martin heard the crack as it broke.

"Douglas, are you alright?" Martin called. Douglas stood, and Martin could see that half of his face was covered in blood. Douglas looked at Martin and nodded, breathing heavily. He started to walk back to the flight deck, but the lav door opened and Douglas froze. Martin saw Blond Man exit, his gun aimed at Douglas.

"That was very clever of you, Douglas, but I think that's enough of this," said Blond Man, and Martin felt his stomach sink. Douglas winked at Martin, and Martin threw the control yoke hard starboard. The plane shuddered and groaned at the violent maneuver, and Martin hoped that the wings wouldn't simply snap off under the strain. He heard a shout from the cabin and a deep groan of pain. Martin carefully corrected their bank until GERTI was once again on course.

Martin felt dizzy and a little sick, and he struggled to take deep, steadying breaths. He heard footsteps behind him in the flight deck and turned around, fully expecting to be shot. Instead he saw Douglas, who was winded and bleeding. Douglas slouched into his seat and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at his bloody nose with an equally bloody hand.  
Martin didn't know what to say.

"A-are they...?"

"Dead?" asked Douglas. Martin nodded.

"Alas, no. Definitely unconscious though," Douglas said.

" Are you alright?" asked Martin.

"Fine." Douglas waved a hand. "I'll be sore tomorrow but no worse than some pub brawls. Never thought I'd have to do that in an aeroplane though. I'll take control for a moment while you go back into the cabin, retrieve the duct tape, and kindly immobilize the bloke who's lying in the aisle? And the other fellow passed out in row C?"

"I don't think you're in any shape to land, Douglas."

"Not after your attempt at a barrel roll, no. But I can fly for a moment while you take care of our passengers. Oh, and maybe you should cut Arthur free as well? They appear to have duct-taped him into the broken seat by the loo."

"Oh my God, Arthur!" Martin exclaimed, undoing his harness so he could go out into the cabin.

Arthur looked terrified, his eyes huge above the strip of duct tape that sealed his mouth. He was still taped securely to his seat. To Martin's relief, he didn't seem injured.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Martin asked, and then realized Arthur couldn't answer.

"Arthur, I have to take this off of your mouth. It's probably going to hurt, and I'm sorry. Just be still." Arthur nodded, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the anticipated pain.

Martin picked a corner of the tape loose and took a moment to steady his hand. He yanked the tape off in one go, and Arthur's eyes watered with pain. The tape left an ugly mark across Arthur's mouth.

"Oh, thank you Skip," Arthur breathed, closing his eyes briefly. Martin squeezed his shoulders in reassurance. Martin unfolded his pocket knife and cut away the tape that held Arthur to the seat as well.

"I guess it's alright that I was taped to this seat," Arthur said, rubbing at his wrists after Martin cut them free. "It kept me from flying through the cabin when GERTI tried to do a somersault. Did you do that Skip?"

"Yes," Martin said. "I was trying to help Douglas."

"Oh you did. You should have seen the blond guy's face when he was going to shoot Douglas and suddenly the floor was gone! It was brilliant. Well, except for the part where he tried to kill Douglas."

Martin sighed and sawed at the tape around Arthur's ankles. When it came free, he helped Arthur onto his wobbly legs.

"Arthur, go make sure Douglas is alright. I'll be up in a minute."

Martin found the duct tape and the unconscious Blackbeard in the aisle, exactly where Douglas said he would be. His nose was clearly broken and he had a lump on his temple. Martin wondered if he should attempt some kind of basic first aid, and then immediately berated himself for even considering aiding the enemy. He grabbed the man's wrists and taped them together, then did his ankles as well. He did the same for blond Mr. Smith, who was draped awkwardly across most of row C. He couldn't find either gun.

Martin returned to the flight deck, his ears popping as GERTI began to descend. He took his seat and saw that Douglas had wiped most of the blood from his face. Martin grabbed the radio and called Fitton ATC.

"Fitton tower, this is Golf Tango India, requesting permission to land," Martin said.

"Golf Tango India, we can take you," replied Carl. "Would you like the standard welcome or shall we break out the confetti?"

"J-just the standard please, no confetti. We've had a bit of an...incident... on board today. Could you have the police waiting when we arrive?"

"Everything alright up there, Captain?" Carl actually managed to sound concerned.

"We're fine for now," Martin said. "Just a bit of attempted hijacking."

"Oh, well, busy day then," Carl said. "I'll have the police on standby. You're all clear to land Captain, at your leisure."

Martin sat shivering in the late afternoon chill under a bright red blanket one of the paramedics had given him, holding a tepid cup of tea. He wished it were whiskey. The adrenaline had long since ebbed away, leaving him exhausted. The paramedics were treating Douglas and Arthur, who were bruised but not seriously hurt. Martin felt a stab of guilt that he hadn't been able to help them, especially Arthur.

Douglas and Arthur walked over to where Martin sat, wrapped in matching red blankets. Douglas had a line of butterfly closures sealing a cut over his left eyebrow and his nose still looked rather swollen. The knuckles on his right hand were bandaged.

"Well, Captain," Douglas said, "another successful flight. I hear our passengers weren't very satisfied though."

"Yes, well," said Martin. "Hard to please everyone when you're hijacked at gunpoint. Makes for a rather uncomfortable flight."

"Oh, Skip, it was amazing though!" Arthur said. "Douglas locked the blond bloke in the loo and then kicked the other in the _face!_ And then he almost got shot, but you did that thing with the plane! I didn't know a plane could do that."

"Well, it can, but it really shouldn't. I've probably shortened GERTI's life considerably," Martin said.

Douglas clapped him on the shoulder. "That was some impressive maneuvering, _Sir_. It was too bad I was too busy being thrown around the cabin to really appreciate it."

Martin smiled, secretly taking pleasure in the praise. He saw Carolyn walking towards them and hitched his blanket a little higher on his shoulders, ready to defend his decisions.

"What is this, naptime at the airfield?" Carolyn asked, taking in her blanket-wrapped crew.

"Oh Mum, these blankets are great," explained Arthur. "When I got off the plane I sort of felt all cold and like I might fall over and the pretty paramedic gave me a blanket and some tea and said I needed to sit so she could check me over."

"I've spoken with the police," Carolyn said. "The hijackers were hired to retrieve something that my former husband thought he left on GERTI."

"What?" Martin asked.

"A painting- apparently Gordon was running a little side business. Art smuggling, to be exact," Carolyn said.

"You're joking," said Douglas, and Martin wasn't sure, but he thought Douglas may have looked just a tiny bit concerned when the word "smuggling" had come up.

"Not at all," replied Carolyn. "Somewhere on GERTI he hid a painting. This one, he apparently bought legally but was going to resell on the black market. It's a rare Picasso."

"And where was this painting supposed to be on GERTI?" asked Martin. "Seems like we would have found something like that by now, as many times as she's been taken apart and put back together."

"Yes, well, that's what I thought too," Carolyn said. "The hijackers said it was in the hold, but there's nothing there except an old deck and chair and-"

"A box of strudel," they all finished together.

Martin, Douglas, and Arthur followed Carolyn as she pushed her way past a clump of policemen so that she could get to the hold.

"Allow me," Douglas said, throwing the latch back to unbolt the door. Sure enough, there was nothing in the hold but Carolyn's chair and a dilapidated-looking box labeled "STRUDEL."

"So," Martin said, "You mean to tell me you've never even looked in that box? Is it even extra strudel?"

"Of course I've never looked in it," said Carolyn. "Catering is Arthur's responsibility. Why would I look in a box of strudel?"

"Because you got hungry?" Douglas suggested. Carolyn shot him a warning look and pulled the box of strudel out into the weak late-afternoon light. She opened the box, and everyone crowded close to see the object that had caused so much grief.

Inside were nothing but a few packets of withered, unappetizing-looking strudel with fossilized icing. Carolyn dumped the box out onto the ground, but indeed it held nothing but strudel.

"There's nothing in there," Martin said, puzzled. "Was Gordon sure the piece was even on the plane? Who knows what's happened to it since he was flying her."

"Uh, chaps," Arthur said, in the tone he used when he had forgotten something important.

"Yes, Arthur?" Martin prompted.

"Now, I think I might know what happened to the painting, but you shouldn't be mad at me because Mum did put me in charge of the strudel, and I was just doing my job."  
Martin, Douglas and Carolyn stared at him.

"Well?" Carolyn asked. "Where is it?"

 

"So, Arthur, let me make sure I am clear on this," Douglas said from beside Martin. "You were looking for some extra strudel because our usual order was delayed by a volcanic eruption, so you went into the hold when you remembered we had a box there. Upon opening the box, you found not only the strudel you desperately needed but also a very ugly painting and a memory stick. You thought the painting was hideous, but it had a special something, and you knew just the place to hang it. That place, Arthur, is your toilet."

"...Yes," Arthur replied. "I thought it looked brilliant!"

"It is pretty hideous," Martin pointed out, as they all stood in Arthur's en-suite looking at the painting.

"Arthur," said Douglas. "Did you say there was a memory stick in the strudel box with the painting?"

"Oh yeah. I used it to save all these great pictures I found of cats on the internet."

"Did you see if there was anything else on it before you used it to store cat pictures?" Martin asked, exchanging a glance with Douglas.

"Well, there was some kind of file, but it said "Secret," and I know you're not supposed to look at things that are secret that aren't yours. Like that time I found Mum's vacation pictures with Herc. Or when I borrowed Douglas' iPad. So I just left it alone. I think it's still there." Douglas seemed to choke a little, but covered it with a cough.

"Arthur," said Carolyn. "Why don't you go and get the memory stick and let me take a look at whatever it is. We are looking at a potential crime, and I was married to your father when he made that file, so I would like to be sure that there's nothing else lurking that could be a surprise."

"Like smuggling priceless artwork across international borders," Martin said.

"Shut up, Martin," Carolyn snapped.

"Found it, Mum," called Arthur.

Carolyn booted up her computer and plugged in the drive. Sure enough, there was a folder marked "Secret" buried under all the cat pictures and what Martin strongly suspected was a folder of _Quest for Camelot_ fan-art. Martin watched as Carolyn opened the file. It contained spreadsheets: itemized lists of art pieces, their prices on the black market, and when Gordon had smuggled them.

"Good God," said Douglas. "This is evidence of his entire operation. Years of smuggling, all right here. Gordon didn't want the painting, he wanted this memory stick. He's probably been after it for years."

"That's why he wanted GERTI so badly," Martin said, stunned. Carolyn said nothing. She closed the file and pocketed the memory stick.

"Don't you think you should give that to police?" Martin asked.

"I need to...think about it," Carolyn said, frowning. Martin decided it was best not to press the issue. He wondered if there was any way Carolyn could be implicated in Gordon's smuggling, and he could understand Carolyn wanting to do some research before handing the evidence over to the police.

"So, what are you going to do about the priceless piece of art hanging in Arthur's loo?" Douglas asked, wisely changing the subject.

"Well," replied Carolyn. "I guess that's up to Arthur."

"I dunno, Mum," Arthur said. "It's really ugly. I mean, I'm sure it probably means something, you know, like the naked square people symbolize the struggle between man and nature, but mostly it's just ugly and kind of goes with the color of the paint."

"It does seem rather appropriate that Gordon's priceless piece of art that he attempted to hijack a plane for has been hanging on the wall across from Arthur's toilet this whole time," Martin said. Carolyn's face brightened, as it always did when she discussed spiting her ex-husband.

"Yes," she said. "I think we'll leave it here for a while, until we decide what to do with it."

"After all," Douglas said, "It's not as though Gordon can hijack a toilet."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an old prompt on the CP meme: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=10620818#cmt10620818. I can't take full credit for the premise.


End file.
